Her father was a god of war? Myth swallowed hard. Her grandfather a god of rain? It made her head spin just thinking about it. And all these women were so brave and resilient.
“So, you see, daughter of mine, by trapping us here in Aztlan, and trying to breed us in order to create a perfect vessel for a mage, all Tezcatlipoca has done is turn you into the perfect weapon to end the reign of terror he and the Scorpion Mage have perpetuated here in Aztlan for thousands of years. Now that you’ve unlocked your magic, you can do it.”
Coatlicue laughed. “Toss in a bit of extra magic from that silver imp, and you can fight mages and gods, Myth.”
They sounded so sure. Could she? Myth didn’t feel like she could. She’d never fought, other than for Fable, and look how that had turned out. Her stung and poisoned. Fable in chains.
The obsidian dagger. It wasn’t a knife. It was a shard of Itzpapalotl’s wing. And a prison for an army of star demons. Could she set them free somehow, if she used the knife?
Myth wiped tears from her face. It was all so much to take in. There was no choice. She had to figure out how to fight to save Fable. “There are gods in my family tree, but I think my strength comes from all of you.”
“MYTH!” HANDS SHOOK her shoulders. Big hands that sent warm tingles down her arms. Norrix. “Myth!” His voice took on a tone of urgency.
She blinked, coming back to herself in the tiny room with Norrix. She’d felt so strong a moment ago, but disappointment crashed over her now. “It didn’t work, did it? I feel a bond with you, but that’s because I’m Dragă, right? I’m not strygoi.”
Curiosity and worry filled the bond. Norrix shook his head. “Strygoi change. Every one I’ve seen has black hair and glows silver. Did you see Soră?”
Fighting tears, Myth nodded and tried to summon the strength Ember and Viktoria wielded so easily. “Maybe Musette was wrong and I’m not meant to be strygoi. I’m sorry. I can’t help us escape like I wanted to, but I’m not leaving without my daughter.”
Norrix held her close. “We’ll find her and leave today. But listen. I didn’t want to disturb you in your Dragă Space, but I hear a single heartbeat moving through the palace. It’s moving slowly, coming up the stairs. Can you find Fable?”
Myth’s eyes widened. “Iqiohr! He can’t find you here. He’ll summon all his men to fight or send one to hurt Fable! Hide! I’ll go with him. I don’t care what he does to me. You have to find Fable. There’s a house the family the boy belongs to lives in, in the complex to the west. The biggest one, closest to the palace. I found her there before, but they might have moved her.” She was babbling, but she didn’t care. Norrix had to find Fable.
“If they have, I can track her. She’ll have a scent similar to yours. Come with me now.”
“No. I can’t. If I’m not here, Iqiohr will order his men to hurt Fable. Please. Go to her. She’s the most important thing in the world to me. I can’t take any chances until I know she’s safe.”
Norrix pulled Myth close and kissed her hard. “I’m coming for you as soon as I have Fable. Be ready.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. Myth was more than ready to get out of this place.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
NORRIX
WHILE MYTH WAS LOST in her Dragă space, Norrix stripped the bodies of keys and disposed of them by tossing them off Iqiohr’s balcony onto the beach. Now, he left her against his better judgement, slipping into an adjacent room as the Scorpion Mage entered the bedroom. But her priority was Fable, and she wouldn’t be dissuaded.
Norrix skulked through the palace. Listening for heartbeats to avoid running into the few guards, he made his way toward the main exit. It was tempting to kill each of the Scorpion Mage’s men, but he didn’t want to alert them to his presence. The four he’d already killed wouldn’t be missed yet, considering they were meant to be with Myth.
Bonding with his Dragă had given him color vision, but it was wasted on this white marble everything palace.
He ducked into a bedroom to avoid a man coming down the corridor and took the opportunity to go through the closets, searching for clothing that would help him fit in better. People were dressed for the ceremony. Men would be bare-chested and wear ornate tilmatlis, loincloths, and gold jewelry.
Going around mostly naked didn’t bother him and his skin tone, though lighter than most, was a dark golden color that wouldn’t stand out too much. “Here’s hoping I remember how to tie a maxtlatl so it doesn’t fall off.” He managed it and draped a plain white tilmatli over his shoulders, fastening it with a gold brooch at his throat.
Helping himself to a macuahuitl displayed on the weapons wall, he swung it in a few test strikes. The wooden club could do damage if he hit someone with the flat of it, but the sharp obsidian blades embedded into its sides made it part sword, and were more dangerous.
Adding an ornate feathered mask with the same markings the representative had worn last night to his ensemble, he decided that was enough going native. The cloak covered the sides of his legs and the holsters for his guns. If he kept his arms under the fabric, the sheaths on his forearms for his daggers would remain hidden. When he had to fight, it wouldn’t matter if anyone saw his weapons.
Disguised and armed, he exited the room and raced down the stairs. On the ground level, another guard approached, and Norrix opened the nearest door. It opened onto a staircase, leading down. The faintest trace of apples wafted from that direction, but it was overlayed with blood, body odor, and fear. Numerous heartbeats in too slow rhythms echoed in his ears.
Would the Mage really keep his daughter there? Why wouldn’t he, more aptly.
A locked door barred his entrance at the bottom of the steps, but one of the keys on the rings he’d pilfered unlocked it. Cells lined the hallway on both sides, all locked. He unlocked the first and pushed it open.
Three witches lay on the floor, but stirred and sat up when he stepped into the room. “You’re not one of them.”
“I’m not. Can you stand? Walk?”
One rose to her feet. Hair snarled, body a mass of scars and bruises, she stood bent, but not broken, and helped the other two up. “We can if it means getting out of here.”
Norrix nodded and moved to the next door. Cages lined the walls. Seconds ticked away, time he should have been using to find Fable, but he couldn’t leave the creatures trapped here. He moved prison to prison, opening all the locks and doors.
The first witch followed him, offering comforting murmurs and touches to other witches and the animals he freed. “What are these bastards up to? They’ve been draining us of magic nonstop for a week. It’s never been so bad before.”
“They’re trying to being the Sixth Sun.”
A faint scent of apples lingered in front of one cell — the only one without a small barred window. Norrix unlocked the door and flung it open. Inside, the odor of fear tainted the apples. Fable had spent time here, and been terrified, but not for a couple days.
The only furnishing, a tiny cot with its threadbare blanket and lack of pillow, tore at his emotions. An overwhelming sense of sadness at the life this little girl had known warred with a tsunami of rage at the men who’d treated her this way. This time, it wasn’t a broken mind that froze him in place, but a shocking need to rein himself in from letting his vampire side out on a murderous rampage.
Visions of Plan D played out in his head. A satisfying boom of explosions that demolished the entire island.
Need to rescue Fable from this place and offer her everything in all the worlds he’d been to finally snapped his body into motion and he turned to leave. He wanted to show her wonders, and see her face light up with amazement. Experience everything again himself because it would all be old and new at the same time.
This was how he would see through child’s eyes again. He knew it in his bones. And that meant, if Zax was to be trusted, this was the beginning of the end of mages.
In the corridor, the freed witches gathered in a bunch. F
ilthy rags as clothing, scarred skin, tangled hair, skeletal from being drained repeatedly. They huddled silently waiting for someone to take charge. He hoped one of them could do it. He had his own witches to rescue.
“That poor girl.” The first witch inclined her head at Fable’s cell. “The Scorpion Mage took her voice, but sometimes she still had a smile for us. You won’t find her here. They’ve given her away. The boy's father was here a couple days ago.”
Norrix clenched his fists. “To hurt you? Or her?”
She shook her head. “No. Xocoh is a prisoner here, same as us. Was, anyway. With us being drained so often, the time blurs. We’ve not heard him lately. He’s got magic, too. They torture it out of him.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for him. I’ve got to find the little witch. There isn’t going to be a better chance for you to leave Aztlan. The palace is mostly empty.” He unholstered one of his guns and handed it to her. “Take this and don’t be afraid to use it on the men. Leave the ahuizotls be, and they should leave you alone too. If you can get to a raft or canoe, you’re not likely to be chased. Iqiohr’s men will be busy on top of the pyramid.”
“I hope you find the girl. And her mother. We were never kind to her, but we know what happened to us wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t stop the mage, but she made an easy target.”
Knowing his Draga, she probably blamed herself. She didn’t need these witches to reinforce her lack of ability to help anyone. But they were victims too. Rather than snap at them, he nodded curtly and turned to the next locked door.
Footsteps shuffled down the corridor as the witch herded the crowd to the stairs.
Norrix moved from door to door, opening each and directing the occupants to follow the line of witches. In the next-to-last cell, a beaten man slumped on the floor, arms held over his head by chains attached to manacles on his wrists. Bruises in a variety of colors covered his face. His fingers ended in bloody wounds where his nails had been torn out. A faint heartbeat, barely discernible even to vampire hearing, meant death was near. He wore the clothing of a high-ranking family, torn and dirty, like a mockery of his rank.
Words to ask if any of the witches had healing powers hovered on Norrix’s tongue, but he kept them in. Magic shared and offered replenished itself, but the women he’d freed had nothing left to give.
Drawing one of his knives, Norrix cut his wrist and pressed it to the man’s mouth.
The prisoner stirred after a few drops entered his body. He slitted one swollen eye open as much as he could and sat up, shaking his head to escape Norrix’s blood.
Here, his disguise worked against him. Norrix removed his mask. “I’m not working for the mage. My blood won’t heal you completely, but it can lend you strength enough to get out of here. Is your name Xocoh? ”
He managed a nod.
Norrix’s wound healed in moments, but the blood he’d already given Xocoh was enough. Healthy color returned, bruises faded, and he sat straighter. Mostly healed, the man bore a striking resemblance to Gajo.
Myth had told Norrix where to find the house, but being led directly to it would make up some of time he'd spent here. “Your son is Tizoq?”
“Yes.” His voice creaked from disuse, but nervousness. “He’s a good boy.”
“I know. I don’t mean him any harm. He’s been kind to the girl Iqiohr sent to live with him. But I need to find her. I plan to take her out of Aztlan. Will you help me?There’s not much time. Iqiohr is trying to being the Sixth Sun.”
Xocoh nodded. “I figured that much out from the guards talking. Aztlan won’t be safe for anyone if he succeeds. I’m in no shape to fight, but I can take you straight to our house. There’s a tunnel that will avoid the guards.”
With everyone at the pyramid for the ceremony, there probably wouldn’t be many of those. Norrix sorted through keys, trying each in the cuffs. “Why were you imprisoned?”
“My brother betrayed me. Gajo always craved power and now is corrupted by the white magic.”
One cuff fell away and Norrix moved to the next. “Gajo is dead. He was killed in Ashana.”
Xocoh sighed and rubbed his freed wrists. “I can't say I’m surprised. My brother lost his way years ago.”
Norrix stood and extended his hand.
“If there was ever a time to take a risk, it’s today.” Xocoh allowed Norrix to pull him up and stretched his arms and legs. He headed for the door, limping slightly, but moving with determination. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
FABLE
FABLE SAT AT THE TABLE and touched the last book, absorbing the story about colorful parrots who liked to steal shiny things and not share. Tizoc let her look at as many books as she wanted. He had stories about a duck that was really a swan, farm animals that made pudding, a girl who wanted to be a glassblower, a boy who wore a mask and wrestled mummies, a spider who wrote messages, and a train that didn’t give up.
This morning when the sun rose, it felt like last night was a bad dream, except for her sore eyes and the collar and cuffs that blocked Nantli from talking.
Tizoc burst into the room so fast, she jumped out of her chair, making it crash to the floor. He reached out for her. “Come with me. We have to go.”
What was happening? Fable shook as she put her hand in his and the chains linking the collar and cuffs rattled as she tried to keep up. Tizoc ran fast through the courtyard. A mean man yelled when he saw them.
Changing directions, Tizoc ran into a new room. He locked the door and pushed furniture in front of it.
Something slammed into the wood.
What was happening? Were they taking her away so they could whip her? Every time she thought things were going to get better, they only got worse.
“Stay behind me.”
Fable nodded.
The door splintered.
Soră! Fable screamed. But what could her friend do? She had to leave to talk to Nantli and hadn’t come back yet.
Tizoc stood in front of her as men battered the door. “Be gone! You cannot take my Esne.”
The mean men didn’t listen. They laughed. “There’s no reason you have to get hurt, boy. Get out of our way. The Scorpion Mage wants it.”
“For what?”
“We have orders to bring it to the pyramid.”
Ice cold terror slid down Fable’s spine. Only bad things happened to people on the pyramid.
The mean men swung big clubs with shards of obsidian in them, shattering the top of the door. They climbed over the furniture and attacked Tizoc. He punched and kicked them, but there were too many. One man fell down but another one hit Tizoc so hard he spun around. Blood came out of his nose, but he kicked a soldier hard. The rest of the men made a circle around Tizoc.
Fable pressed against the wall, trying to push herself into it.
The men kicked and swung their weapons, making awful sounds when they hit Tizoc. He didn’t make any noise. Did they kill him? She screamed his name, yelled for the men to stop, to leave them alone, but no one heard her.
A surge of something hot inside of Fable pushed her to stand. She flung herself at the nearest man, kicking him with her feet and punching with her fists.
He stopped hurting Tizoc and spun around. “Well, the little mouse has some backbone if no sound.”
“That's enough,” one of the men said.
The rest stepped away, leaving Tizoc on the floor. He looked small and wasn’t moving. Was he dead? Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she sobbed. Two men grabbed her arms with their hard hands and dragged her away.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
IQIOHR
IQIOHR BATTLED FOR control as Tezcatlipoca held up the black blade, twisting it in the sunlight. The day was finally at hand. For ten millennia, all mages had fought for the scant magic they could wield. Unlike other magics, mage magic didn’t grow if it was shared. It was finite in the world and caused mages to fight one another. Drain each other like they were no better than witches. But everything was co
nverging to change that.
Carelessly given away as a trinket by a previous Scorpion Mage, the obsidian blade had emerged from its mysterious hiding place at an auction. The full solar eclipse this afternoon would last for hours. A fitting sacrifice, full of untapped magic, would power the ritual. He’d be able to keep the portal open long enough to usher in not only gods who had been banished or lost their power, but the Sixth Sun world of Aztlan. He would remake the world, and mage magic with it.
He entered the closet and opened the door to the Esne’s cell. “Get dressed and come with me.” Normally he would have had the witch dressed to match him, in clothing of the finest material adorned with gold, obsidian and turquoise, with an elaborate hairstyle and jeweled sandals.
But the Esne didn’t warrant that sort of treatment anymore. He tossed a plain, rough-spun, shapeless garment of blood red at it. The last thing any witch deemed of no use wore immediately prior to being sacrificed. A witch with no more magic still had blood and a heart. Waste not, after all.
The Esne emerged a moment later, dressed, but barefoot and disheveled. Its swollen, red-rimmed eyes and tangled hair no longer mattered. It was only an Esne, not his Esne anymore. Any minion with an appropriate level of proficiency of magic could use it, provided it did not already carry his child.
Tezcatlipoca turned and left the room. The Esne would follow. Outside, the entire city was in a state of celebration. His guards lined the main street on both sides, keeping the way clear for him. As he passed his men, they fell in behind him, the crowd filling the street behind them as they all walked toward Serpent Mountain.
The witch would learn its new place soon. The betrayer didn’t deserve his protection, and today its most cherished reward would be its punishment.
Myth's Legend: Norrix Page 28
